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A Grain of Sand

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I am waiting,
For a time when stepping out in the sun amidst people,
Will not be with a mind shrouded in fear,
For a time when one will not ache and long at length,
To meet and hug those who are near and dear.
I am waiting,
For a time when despite the gentle breeze and warmth of the sun,
Getting up in the morning will not feel so sunken,
For a time when travelling the untraveled and travelling it all,
Will be without a hitch and its idea, not so forsaken.
I am waiting,
To undertake that rail travel and go back to my place,
Where love is unadulterated and care, unconditional
Where all its trails are committed to memory by rote,
And where the night echoes with its characteristic lull
I am waiting,
For a time when there is no bargain between safety and leisure,
Where the mind has its sanctuary and is not rusted,
In the hackneyed and the bickering that arise when you live too
close,
For a time when our wisdom is not so stunted.
I am waiting,
For when there is a balance between d…

Staring into nothingness, With wind ruffling the hair, And the incessant chatter of
thoughts in the head, The
creases along the hand are laid bare. In two minds, and a soulless
pursuit, With a heart that’s there and
yet not, In the
skin of the game I want to know nothing of, An array
of possibilities, sought and dropped. With the
reflection in the mirror I can barely recognise, From what
I was to what I’ve become, Treading
the trajectory of those countless illusions, With every
passing second, to those illusions, I succumb...

Dehradun is nostalgia. Like an old hand-knit sweater of yesteryears unearthed suddenly from an old wooden shelf. Or stumbling upon a handmade birthday card with sweet nothings scribbled all over. Or your last day school shirt copiously inked in kept and unkept promises of your friends. A sliver of time etched in the indelible state of what used to be. When the early April morning still wore a half-sleeve sweater and the month of June alternated between sunshine and a heavy downpour. When an impromptu ride to Mussoorie was the biggest adventure ever and a halt at the Maggi point was the most romantic destination in the world. When the guests insisted on being served tea and morning breakfast in mother’s dew laden, well-carpeted garden to enjoy the breath-taking view of Mussoorie. And when at night, the sky lit up with a hundred thousand lights of the houses in the hill and you could actually feel the stars at your arm’s reach. Dehradun is nostalgia. Nostalgia of the smell of Sunrise rusk…